


Hyperreal

by hauteng



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dick Pics, Internet Famous, John-centric, M/M, Minor AU, Paranoia, Sherlock Holmes Makes Deductions, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Slow Burn, but they're not always right, dealing with publicity, revenge porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 13:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauteng/pseuds/hauteng
Summary: Sherlock is back, creating a stir all over the country. As the Bakerstreet Boys become a viral sensation, John finds himself feeling out of sorts. Meanwhile, Mycroft sends them on a strictly classified, rather personal mission - his past fling Irene Adler is in possession of rather compromising pictures and he wants them back. Sherlock has to learn his deductions aren't failsafe.Basically, John and Sherlock are on a hunt for Mycroft's Dick Pics while dealing with all sorts of feelings. More angsty than it sounds.AU Irene Adler, canon divergence after Reichenbach Fall.





	Hyperreal

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting here! This is a short chapter to set the base tone, I will try to update as frequently as possible.  
I should probably mention that English is not my first language and this work is neither beta-read nor brit-picked. I hope it reads fluently still. I would love some feedback!

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when it wasn't an unusual occurrence anymore for either John or Sherlock to get recognized.

With Sherlock's shocking return from the dead, there came a publicity boost. It seemed like a natural progression; at first from family and friends leaving comments, to new colleagues and clients knowingly telling them "I've read the blog", to newspaper articles, to having to hire people to moderate the comments, to have people anxiously awaiting every next post and making wild speculations about their relationship, to young fans approaching them asking for pictures. To being uncomfortable leaving the flat. Eyes were on them, eyes looking through the blue window of a screen, through windows of a restaurant, and more terrifyingly, sometimes through no window at all. 

Mrs Hudson tells him that there is a wonderful grocery delivery service that her friend uses, but John still goes to the supermarket himself.

He has always hated the idea of a comfortable life. When he feels eyes following him down the street, he thinks about how horrible he would feel lazing about his flat like an old man, waiting for his food to drop at his doorstep. Obscene, he thought. What would Sherlock think of him? Well, he would probably appreciate the efficiency, John thinks. For a man like Sherlock, going grocery shopping is something so unessential that he wouldn’t even think of it if it wasn’t for John. 

John, being an ordinary man, he does think of it. Just as Sherlock’s job is to be brilliant, Johns job is to take care of the simple things.

John thinks of a scenario: If there was some kind of software, like a brilliant, crime-solving app that immediately tells you who the murder is, or at least gives you vital clues - if Sherlock made use of it, he wouldn’t seem so brilliant anymore, would he. Although he would still be extra-ordinary, his usefulness to the Scotland Yard would decrease. Anyone could use an app after all. He wouldn’t be authentic anymore. John isn’t sure if that even makes any sense, but that’s essentially why he didn’t tell Sherlock about the grocery delivery service. Because Sherlock would tell him, in one or two flat sentences, to simply use it and John wouldn’t be able to explain why he simply couldn’t and he would feel ridiculous. 

When he bends down to pick up milk from the shelf, he feels the back of his shoulders crawl with potential phone cameras aimed at him. Maybe his butt crack is showing? It’s ridiculous, of course. They weren’t _ that _ famous, after all. There have been instances of photographers waiting for them at a crime scene, of course, but it hasn’t escalated yet to a level where people snap pictures of him picking up milk with his butt crack showing. John makes sure of it; he checks the gossip forums about them often. 

On his way home - he took extra care with the chip and pin machine, he didn’t want to embarrass himself again - a woman, roughly in her 20s, stopped him.

“Excuse me, but are you Doctor Watson?”, she asks hesitantly, eyes nervously glistering behind her glasses. She seems aware of the possibility that she might be a bother. John though feels something akin to relief wash over him. He smiles and agrees when she asks for a picture. He isn't a shy man, after all. That’s not what this is about. It’s just that his time in Afghanistan has taught him to be constantly on the watch for enemies lurking in the hidden, observing him, waiting for the opportunity to get a clear shot. Yes, that’s must be where his irrational anxiety is coming from. Once the invisible bubble of danger burst in the form of this unthreatening young woman however, he felt in a much better mood. 

I’m a medical man and a soldier, he reminds himself and made a conscious effort to straighten up. He shouldn’t be afraid of regular civilians. He even nonchalantly tells Sherlock about the woman in glasses when he comes home. 

“You enjoy your newfound attention”, Sherlock says distractedly, but as a definite statement, just as he might conclude something about a murder victim at a crime scene. “Your posture is consciously straight - something reminded you of your military time. The admiration of the fan made you feel needed; like you’re doing your duty for the public again. Heard you take two steps at once – you were excited to tell me about your encounter.” 

John unpacks the groceries from the bag. Was Sherlock accusing him of letting the fame get to his head? He reviewed his meeting with the fan in his head – he did enjoy it, although not for the reasons Sherlock thinks he did. Or did he? Maybe John overthinks his feelings so much that he couldn’t grasp the core of them. Sherlock, since he doesn’t have to go through the complicated loops of Johns thought processes, sees right through him. And he was usually right about these kinds of things, so that must be it. 

Sherlock seemed to sense his hesitation and glanced up from the microscope, looking John over.

“You’re better dressed than normal. Before you left, you checked yourself in the mirror. You took less time than you usually do; I take it you got along well with the chip and pin this time. This ego-boost suits you well, John Watson.” Sherlock smiled and there was something soft in his face, like he was looking at a schoolboy who was proud of his presentation, or at a cat proud of bringing a mouse home. He was looking at John as though he knew him very well. Suddenly John felt something akin to anger bubble up in him and he didn’t know where it was coming from at all. 

The next day, John was in the bathroom getting ready to go to work, when Sherlock appeared, leaning against the doorframe and looking intently at him. John, who was in the process of putting product in his hair, felt awkward, like he was caught doing something questionable. He didn’t want to let it show, however, so he acted unbothered and resumed styling his hair with mechanical movements. 

“You didn’t sleep well.” Sherlock said, without doubt referring to Johns gruelling nightmares that had been returning ever since the detective came back from the dead. “Yeah, well...” John tried his best to appear fully concentrated on putting his stuff back in the shelf. Sherlock went silent, looking awkward himself. “Are you going to see her again?”, he asked finally, hesitantly. “No.”, John replied evenly. Sherlock hummed, then left and closed the door behind him. 

The anger came back to John with full force, curling his toes and urging him to pinch his forearms as hard as he could. He did not know why he was feeling that way. Everything was too normal and he felt everything too much. So much had happened and what it all came down to was Sherlock casually leaning against the bathroom door, carefully analysing if John was alright and inquiring why he won’t see the woman he almost married anymore. 

Smoke and Mirrors. Johns quiet replies had felt way too soft in his throat like he was meant to be screaming instead and the quiet, sombre atmosphere Sherlock had left him with when he closed the bathroom door made him want to tear his skin from his body. He suddenly noticed he had put way too much product in his hair and he felt like exploding. That was when the doorbell rang, breaking his anger-ridden trance. John took a deep breath, rinsed his hair out and left the bath. 


End file.
